


The Greater Good

by tygermine



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Community: reel_merlin, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 07:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5155172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tygermine/pseuds/tygermine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lieutenant Pendragon is the best officer in the London Metropolitan Police Service. But a transfer to Camelot, a village with no crime but an unusually high accident count is about to test the limits of Arthur’s by-the-book attitude to policing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Greater Good

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t done a fest in two years, so to saddle up and get this one done was quite a challenge. If you love the movie, I only hope this little fic can do it justice. Aside from a few lines of dialogue directly from the script, the rest is my own. Standard No Infringement Disclaimer here.

**The Greater Good**

 

Lieutenant Arthur Pendragon of the London Metro Police Service clutched his Japanese Peace Lily as the train rocked beneath him on the way to his new posting in a tiny village just off the Welsh border.

  


He hadn’t given much thought to his destination, concentrating instead on a mental replay of the past few days.

  


Arthur wasn’t a proud man, but his ego had taken a significant beating from the moment he received his marching orders.

  


Yes, he gained a promotion.

  


But what did a promotion mean outside of London. Outside of the city he’d loved and protected for as long as he could remember?

  


The transfer had made no sense in the beginning. He knew he was the best officer in the London Metro area. He had certificates to prove it.

  


So why send their best man to the middle of nowhere?

_  
_

_“You’re making the rest of us look bad,” Police Inspector Joseph Cedric had sneered._

_Even Chief Inspector Kilgarrah backed up the slimy little git._

_“Best you be on your way. This village needs a lieutenant pronto.” He had gruffed, dismissing Arthur without further ado._

  


No one at the Met seemed to be sad to see him leave and Arthur was self aware enough to realise that his pursuit of pure and unfettered justice had not won him any friends in London. Even Elena had dumped him.

_  
_

_Well,_ he thought, bitterly grasping his pot plant. _Bully for her. I hope that incompetent ME she shacked up with…_

  


He couldn’t bring himself to think of anything bad towards the man. Maybe he was just tired. Six hours on a train can do that to even the most stalwart of commuters.

  


All he needed was a bed, then a cup of tea and he’d be back to his normal self.

  


But then, what would his normal self do in a town as small as Camelot? He pulled out his Samsung and thumbed open the browser and Googled the village.

  


The first five entries were all about the picturesque quality of the town and how it was the long time running champion for Village of the Year in the UK.

  


Upon closer scrutiny, it had the lowest murder rate – virtually zero, with hardly any crime aside from a lengthy description of the town nuisance – The Human Statue.

  


Arthur groaned and may have, possibly, for a nano second, prayed for the train to crash and kill him.

  


***

Because the universe was a malicious bitch with a mission to make life as hard for Arthur as possible, it was bucketing down when he arrived at the station. It took him an hour to source a taxi. An exorbitant fee and forty five minutes later, he was deposited outside a quaint looking inn.

  


The Harpy and Key.

  


A middle aged woman with a blonde bouffant sat behind the check in desk.

  


“Pig,” she said as Arthur stepped through the door, soaking the carpets with every squelching step he took.

  


“Harpy,” he replied, not really thinking.

  


Their eyes locked for a moment.

  


“Slang term for authoritarian figures under government control.” She read from her newspaper crossword. She finished with a flourish before sitting it down to the side.

  


A smile spread across her face. “How may I help you?”

  


“Pendragon, checking in.” he said, resisting the urge to shake the water out of his hair like a dog.

  


“Oh, you’re the new Lieutenant.” She turned to take a key from its hook on the shelf behind her. “We’ve been expecting you for a week already.”

  


Arthur would have blinked at her statement, but all he could focus on was the ice cold rivets of water running down his spine, making him shake.

  


With a nod and a weak smile, he signed the register and took his key.

  


***

  


The village of Camelot was so small; it only had one pub – The Sun and Crown.

  


Arthur took a seat at the bar and ordered a glass of cranberry juice.

  


“You must be the new lieutenant,” said the landlord. “Roy Porter and this is my wife, Mary.”

  


He pointed to a middle aged woman pouring a pint beside him.

  


“If you need anything, just let us know.” Roy said.

  


Arthur spotted a copy of the local newspaper; the Camelot Comment.

  


“Can I see the newspaper?”

  


Roy handed it over. “Not sure what good it’ll do you. Gwen is lovely but keeps getting her facts wrong. She said Mary was 55. Isn’t that so, Mary?”

  


His wife nodded. “I’m only 53.”

  


Arthur opened the newspaper, mostly to end the benign conversation.

  


The pub was full of locals, some playing the fruit machines in the corner. Most just sitting around tables, laughing and smoking.

  


A glint in the corner of his eye caught Arthur’s attention. He took a closer look at the tables closest to the bar.

  


Braces.

  


Pimples.

  


Low slung jeans revealing boxers.

  


Teenagers!

  


Arthur slid off the bar stool and stalked to the nearest table. He pulled out his police badge and showed it to the kids at the table.

  


“ID,” he demanded.

  


The kid squinted up at him. As he pulled out a card from his Ben 10 wallet. Arthur scrutinized the card.

  


“This says you were born in 1984.”

  


“Yeah?” The kid sneered.

  


“That would make you 31.” Arthur tapped a finger against the top of the card.

  


“I have good genes?” The teen fumbled.

  


“Out!” Arthur pointed at the door.

  


The teens glared at him as they pushed back their chairs and stood. One of the smaller ones grabbed his pint glass in a desperate attempt to down it before leaving. Most of it spilled down the front of his red hoodie.

  


It took less than five minutes before Arthur took his seat at the bar and with a satisfied smile, sipped his drink. About two thirds of the pub had been emptied.

  


The landlord leaned against the back of the bar, beefy arms crossed and a glare on his face.

  


***

  


It was late when the pub closed. Arthur took a deep breath of the late night air, surprised at the fresh, crispness of it. The pub was part of the town square, a cobblestoned area with a large fountain in the center. 

  


Across the square from the pub was a bakery, corner café and book shop. To the left was the town church – a medieval stone building that rose above the town with its tall spires.

  


To the right was the road that led to the square, and across it, a line of pillars linked with a chain that had been painted recently, judging by the gloss from the street lights.

  


Someone bumped into Arthur’s shoulder from behind.

  


“Sorry,” the figure said as he stumbled towards a small, beat up Fiat Panda parked on the pavement.

  


Arthur opened his mouth to point out that parking on a pedestrian pavement was not allowed and could carry a hefty fine. But the man walked past it and around the corner. At least he wasn’t going to drive.

  


The fountain had been turned off for the night, but it was still something to admire. It was made of pitch black marble, shot through with silver streaks. The centre piece was a large round shape with a cross on the top.

  


Arthur was about to step towards it when he heard a car rumble, gears grind together and tires squeal. He jumped out of the way just in time. The Fiat lurched in reverse for a few more meters, stopping inches from the pub door.

  


Within moments, Arthur was on his feet, wrenching the driver’s door open and hauling the driver out by the bicep.

  


“You almost hit me,” were the first words out of his mouth.

  


The driver leaned against the car drunkenly. He was tall, with black hair and bright blue eyes. He held up his hands. “Sorry, sorry.” He slurred. “I’ll just park it here.”

  


“Right, it’s the tank for you tonight.” He kept a tight hold on the man’s sleeve and started towards the police station. After a few steps he realised something.

  


“Tell me, which way to your police station.” He asked the drunken man.

  


“Oh, I know where it is. This way,” he said and began walking down the road, misstepping only occasionally.

  


***

  


The Camelot Police Station was a small building, only identifiable by its blue lantern hanging over the door.

  


Arthur escorted the line of miscreants he had picked up on his trek to the station. Most of them were the teens he had kicked out of the pub.

  


The desk sergeant looked up in surprise.

  


“And this?” he pointed to the crowd with his pen.

  


“I’ll be booking them for the night,” replied Arthur.

  


“You the new lieutenant then?” the desk sergeant asked.

  


Arthur nodded.

  


“When did you start?” he asked.

  


“Tomorrow,’ replied Arthur as he led the drunk driver to the lock up.

  


***

  


Despite having only a few hours sleep, Arthur reported for official duty in a crisp uniform and shiny shoes.

  


“Heard you’d had quite the night,” smiled Inspector Gaius. He had ice blue eyes that contradicted the friendly smile on his face.

  


“Just doing my job, sir.”

  


Inspector Gaius sat behind his desk, a plate with a slice of black forest cake next to his in tray. He picked up the plate and took a bite of the cake.

  


“You see, Lieutenant, I commend you for your proactive approach, but we police for the greater good in this village.” He spoke around a mouthful of cake. “We let the young ‘uns in the pub as its better than out in the streets getting up to all sorts of mischief.”

  


He glanced at the arrest reports that had been neatly completed by Arthur earlier that morning.

  


“I hardly think urinating against the cemetery wall is an arrestable offence.”

  


“He also urinated on my shoes,” said Arthur tersely.

  


“Ah, totally justifiable then.” He stood up and walked around his desk, cake still in hand. “I will give you the tour then.”

  


“I’d like to check on one of the detainees first.”

  


“By all means,” Gaius led the way to the holding cells.

  


***

  


The cell was empty.

  


“Where is he?” exclaimed Arthur.

  


“Who?” asked a voice behind him.

  


Arthur turned and froze.

  


“You! Why are you wearing a police uniform?”

  


The drunken man from the night before was standing in front of him, wearing a police uniform and holding a plate with a slice of cake on it.

  


The police officer gave him a confused look. “Because I am one?”

  


Before Arthur could launch into a tirade about how police officers should be above such behaviour and should know better, Gaius clapped the man on the shoulder. “Lieutenant Pendragon, this is my son, Merlin. Now, shall we go meet the lads in CID?”

  


***

  


The two detectives in CID were not very welcoming, sneering as Gaius did the introductions. They quickly moved onto the Bull Pen where Gaius introduced Arthur to Sergeant Percival Davids, Sergeant Gary Owaine, Sergeant Lance Knowles and Sergeant Vivian Wickers.

  


“She’s our only policewoman,” Merlin seemed to beam with pride.

  


“Officer,” Arthur corrected.

  


“What?”

  


Arthur sighed and recited; “Metropolitan police has changed the title to Police Officer, therefore ensuring an environment of equality and no discrimination.”

  


Vivian shrugged, “I rather liked being a policewoman.” She sashayed up to Arthur and took his arm. “I can show you around,” her eyelashes fluttered. “I’ve been around the station a few times.”

  


She glanced at Merlin who visibly reddened.

  


Arthur couldn’t extract himself fast enough.

  


Gaius clapped his hands together. “Right, its 11:30am, I say we call it an early lunch.”

  


Everyone cheered and collected their things. Arthur felt the stirrings of a headache.

  


***

  


“Now, Lieutenant, policing the country is very different to the city.” Began Gaius after taking a large sip of his ale. “There it’s all gunfights and car chases. Here, we police for the greater good, so we make allowances.”

  


“Such as allowing children to drink in the pub?” Arthur said tersely.

  


“It keeps them off the streets,” Geraint pointed out.

  


“Besides,” added Galahad. “Everyone and his mum are packing out here.”

  


“Who?” Arthur asked.

  


“Well, farmers.” Said Galahad.

  


“And?”

  


“Farmers mums,” Geraint tried to help.

  


Merlin shuffled closer to Arthur. “Did you ever have a gun fight in London?”

  


“No,” Arthur bit out.

  


“Car chase?”

  


“Yes,” Arthur said.

  


Merlin’s bright blue eyes widened. “Ever shoot someone?”

  


“No.”

  


“Stab anyone?”

  


“I was stabbed,” Arthur fisted his hand. He wished the interrogation would end.

  


***

  


“Ever fire a gun while jumping through the air?”

  


The interrogation had continued as Merlin and Arthur walked through the town square to their car.

  


“No.” Arthur sighed.

  


“Ever fire one gun while jumping through the air?”

  


“No.”

  


They climbed into the squad car. Merlin turned to Arthur.

  


“Ever-“

  


“Stop it.” Arthur interrupted. “Policing is not about gun fights. What’s with all the questions anyway?”

  


Merlin looked abashed. “I’m sorry. It’s just that, I feel like I’m missing out on all the action. Nothing happens in Camelot. Everything is just boring.”

  


“Merlin, be glad it’s boring. Boring is good. It’s safe. But always be alert. Things are always going on under the surface.”

  


“Like what?”

  


Arthur pointed to a young hoodie walking past them. “See him? Why has he got his hat on so low?”

  


“Because he’s ugly and doesn’t want anyone to see?”

  


“Or he’s covering to hide from the cctvs.”

  


“Because his face will crack the lenses.”

  


Arthur fought hard not to roll his eyes.

  


“Arthur, it’s a nice little town. Everyone knows everyone.” Merlin said, taking out his notepad to doodle.

  


His morning jog came to mind. As he had made his way through the town, he had been greeted by various members of the town. Mrs. Cooper, the owner of the Inn had arranged a little gathering to welcome him to the town.

  


He’d met the owner of the local Somerfields, Bruce Skinner, who made his skin crawl. Tom Weaver, head of the neighbourhood watch, who was obsessed with the resident magician who set up in the town square. Annette, who owned the local corner shop; Reverend Shooter and Doctor Reaper. And Morgana Galois, Bruce’s ex wife and local horticulturalist.

  


Most of the talk was about the upcoming Village of the Year award, which Arthur couldn’t give two hoots about.

  


To be honest, they all set his instincts on high alert.                                                               

  


***

  


Later that day, Arthur and Merlin were sitting in a squad car on the outskirts of the village. Arthur was holding the speedometer laser and taking notes of the passing car speeds.

  


Merlin was bored.

  


“I’d love a chance at working in London,” he was doodling in his notebook.

  


Arthur shrugged. “It has its moments.”

  


“Far more exciting than working in a town that doesn’t actually need us.”

  


A convertible raced by.

  


“Seventy five,” Arthur placed the speedometer on the back seat and took off after the car. Merlin switched on the blue lights.

  


They caught the car a mile down the road. The driver had pulled over and the police officers walked over to the car. Arthur noted it was an Alfa Romeo Spider, 80s model but well looked after.

  


The driver was a middle aged man. The passenger, a young blonde woman.

  


“Hiya Eve,” Merlin nodded at the blonde.

  


She smiled widely. “Officer Emrys, haven’t seen you in a while.”

  


“License and registration, please.” Arthur had his notepad and a pen in his hands.

  


The driver complied and handed them over.

  


“Was I going a tad fast, officer?” asked Martin Blower.

  


“Yes you were,” replied Arthur, handing back the license and registration.

 

“We’re staging a homage to the history of the town’s druids at the old castle tonight and I’m a little late for the dress rehearsal. I’m playing the Head Druid.” He chuckled nervously. “What are you writing?”

 

“Everything you say so I can refer to it later.” Said Arthur, not looking up from his notepad as he scribbled away.

 

“Now officer, I am a respected solicitor, there’s no need to-“

 

Arthur ignores him and continues to write.

“Stop writing. I was merely trying to explain why I might have exceeded the speed limit-“

 

In a bored voice, Arthur read from his notes. “You’re playing the Head Druid in a homage to the historical druids of the area, and you’re late for the dress rehearsal. You think this is sufficient reason to travel at 75 in a 30 zone?”

 

“Well, I-” Blower stuttered

 

“To flout laws put in place to save lives.”

 

“This is preposterous.”

 

“...pre-post-er-ous.” 

 

“I’ve never been...stop writing!”

 

“...St-op wri-ting.”

 

Blower took a deep breath and blew it out. “Look...you’re right, I apologise.”

 

With a smile, Arthur handed him his ticket and returned to the car.

  


Merlin was agog. “You…what...I don’t…”

  


“This notepad,” said Arthur, waving his own, “can save your life.”

  


***

  


It was six o’clock on the dot when Merlin and Arthur signed out for the night.

  


“Pub?” Merlin suggested.

  


Arthur wavered for a moment, and then pictured the empty room waiting for him at the Inn.

  


“Sure,” he smiled.

  


As they were about to the leave, the desk sergeant called them over.

  


“A Mr. Blower left these for you.” He pushed two tickets across the counter to Arthur.

  


“I’m sorry, I can’t accept these under the code of conduct, this is classified as bribery.”

  


Merlin huffed a laugh. “I hardly think tickets to their show at the old castle ruins could be seen as bribery.”

  


“I can’t accept.” Arthur tore up the tickets. At that moment, Inspector Gaius opened his office door.

  


“Ah, Arthur. Will you and Emrys represent the force-“

  


“Service,” Arthur muttered.

  


“-at tonight’s show-“

  


“Ceremony.”

  


“-at the ruins?”

  


It wasn’t so much a request as an order.

  


***

The Ruins lay about five miles from the village and was officially dated around 1200. It had been an impressively large compound in its day, but now had been reduced to piles of rocks, apart from two towers connected by a wall.

  


A white tent had been erected ten meters from the wall. It held a vital element to every village function – a bar.

  


Arthur clutched his cranberry juice tighter than the smile on his face.

  


“They say the castle is older than the historians think,” Merlin sipped at his pint.

  


“Looks medieval to me.”

  


“The story when we were kids was it was built before anyone else discovered England.”

  


“You mean the original Britons?”

  


Merlin shook his head. “Not humans.”

  


“Neanderthals?”

  


“Magic people, like fairies and such.” Merlin wiggled the fingers of his free hand.

  


“Magic doesn’t exist,” Arthur scoffed and reconsidered the choice of cranberry juice. Vodka was clearly needed to get through tonight.

  


“I know it doesn’t exist. But it makes for a cool story, don’t you think?”

  


Arthur shrugged non-commitally. His real life was full of goblins and ghouls in human form. His hand still ached from being stabbed there by one of his arrests. Who needed magic when real life was more bizarre?

  


Merlin nudged him. “Show time,” he smiled widely.

  


For a moment, something about Arthur's smile froze the air in his lungs. His heart sped up and time seemed to freeze. Everything was muted.

  


“Yeah, okay.”

  


The world rushed back over him. Arthur shook his head. This place was totally screwing with him.

  


***

  


There were no chairs provided, so the audience had to perch on old building stones or patches of grass in a semi circle at the center of the wall.

  


Mr. Blower - Martin, as he had insisted on being called – took up center stage. He was wearing a white toga, his face painted with blue swirls. There was a circle of men and women around him, all dressed in similar white robes. The women’s robes were Essex short and obviously not keeping them warm.

  


Martin raised his arms above his head and sang in a monotone, the words utter gibberish to Arthur’s ears. In his hands were a sickle and a sheaf of wheat.

  


The circle around him echoed his words as they swayed back and forth. Arthur was bored to tears, but Merlin was paying rapt attention.

  


The show continued with more swaying, more gibberish and then took a turn for the awkward as the women began to rub themselves against Martin as one of the men placed an ornate gold spray painted mask over his face.

  


“In praise of the old ones, in thanks for our harvest and in blessing request for the cold days ahead, we call upon you oh Neptune.”

  


Arthur choked down a laugh. Merlin shot him a glare out of the corner of his eye. He shrugged in response.

  


Arthur wasn’t a religious or spiritual person at all, but something about Martin’s little intonement felt very wrong to him. As if he was at a show to see Fall Out Boy, and Josh Groban appeared on stage instead. 

The most unsettling part of it was that he had no idea why he felt that way. A strange electric tingle curled up his spine and down into the tips of his fingers. He clutched at the rock beneath him, willing the pins and needles sensation to fade away. He hadn’t experienced an episode like this since he was a teenager on a field trip to Loch Ness.

  


The applause from the audience pulled Arthur out of his head and back into the moment. Merlin was whistling loudly before turning to Arthur with that sunshine grin of his.

  


“Pint?”

  


Arthur nodded vigorously.

  


***

  


“What was that?” Arthur blurted out as he drove them back into the village.

  


“Awesome?” Merlin was fiddling with the dials on the radio.

  


“Really?”

  


Not finding a station he liked, Merlin sat back with a huff. “It's not supposed to be historically accurate or anything. It’s just a homage to the history of this place.”

  


“It was a barely concealed orgy.”

  


“Those togas were a bit short.”

  


“I need to bleach my brain after that gust of wind came up and exposed Martin’s nethers.”

  


“Agreed. I don’t think I can look at him the same way knowing he waxes down there,” Arthur winced.

  


***

  


Old Man Monmouth was out with Bullet, his Alsatian, when they came across the wreckage. He called Bullet to heel, muttering to him that it was uncouth to lick a dead person’s dismembered head.

  


***

  


“Accident, right?” Merlin asked, avoiding looking at the medical examiner wheeling Eve’s remains past him.

  


“No,” replied Arthur, taking in the buckled road sign smeared with blood. “Collision.”

  


“What do you mean?”

  


“Accident implies there’s no one to blame.”

  


“But look, they swerved off the road and the sign took off their heads.” Sergeant Davids pointed towards the bend, blood splattered Somerfields sign and the Alfa Romeo Spider wedged underneath it.

  


Percival Davids, in Arthur’s opinion, had the potential to be an amazing officer. It was evident that his training had been sloppy, but Arthur would try to correct this in due course.  


  


“Sergeant Davids, look again. You too, Officer Emrys. Don’t look at what’s there, look for what isn’t there.”

  


The two men shared a puzzled glance before taking in the scene. After five minutes, Percival shrugged and went to deal with the local reporters. Merlin chewed on a thumbnail. “Skid marks.”

  


Arthur blinked. “I’m sorry?”

  


“Skid marks,” replied Merlin with more confidence. “There should be skid marks, especially if he was going as fast as the other day.”

  


“Exactly. Where are the skid marks?”

  


“In his pants?” Percival suggested.

  


“Accident my arse,” muttered Merlin.

  


***

  


It was a rainy Saturday morning a few days after the beheading incident when Arthur got a call to Sycamore road on the other side of the village. It was the most recently developed extension, with an imitation Regency manor dominating the block.

  


Arthur was nursing a killer hangover after spending the night at the pub with Merlin.

  


It had meant to be a two –drinks-then-home type of evening.

  


It was no surprise that Merlin turned out to be a shots connoisseur, handing Arthur shot after shot of exotic combinations.

  


Their drinks were briefly interrupted when George Merchant collided with their table, knocking over glasses and spilling sambuca all over the sticky surface.

  


He immediately righted himself clumsily and begged their forgiveness, offering to buy a replacement round.

  


Bruce Skinner, owner of the local Somerfields and therefore self appointed man about town, walked up to the fracas with a smirk.

  


“Lieutenant Pendragon, what a pleasant surprise. I take it you enjoyed the performance the other night at the castle?”

  


Arthur had to squint slightly at Bruce.

  


“It was quite the show,” slurred Arthur.

  


“Yes, but it’s sad that we won’t see more of that kind of thing with Martin no longer with us. I was just saying to Patty that it’s a pity how so many people lose their heads when it comes to the mystic practices.”

  


There was a commotion from the fruit machines.

  


They all turned to see George Merchant peeing against the wall.

  


Bruce’s laugh was booming. “Looks like someone’s had enough.”

  


Arthur stood up, wobbling only slightly and reached Merchant in a few steps. He spoke a few words that had Merchant tuck himself back in.

  


With a nod to Merlin, he led Merchant from the pub. Merlin followed quickly, fleeing from the slimy feeling that coated his skin every time Bruce was around.

  


He caught up with Merlin around the corner where Merchant was leaning against the wall, throwing up.

  


Arthur screwed up his nose.

  


“We should get him home,” Arthur said as Merchant made gagging sounds in the background.

  


“Good idea.”

  


When Merchant’s up chuck reflex finally settled down, the boys hooked an arm around him and they stumbled off into the night.

  


***

  


“So,” Merlin stood at his door, fiddling with his keys.”Want to come in for a beer?”

  


Arthur nodded blearily. A beer sounded awesome at that moment.

  


Merlin’s flat was cramped, but homey. Action movie posters hung on the walls of his living room. Arthur sank into the couch as Merlin grabbed two beers from the fridge. He handed one to Arthur who accepted

with a nod.

  


With a clap of his hands, Merlin asked if Arthur would like to watch a movie.

  


“Sure,” he sloppily waved his hand.

  


“So, which one? Bad Boys Two or Point Break?”

  


“Uh, which one is better?”

  


“No, which one first?”

  


Arthur blinked. He had no idea. His brain was fuzzy after all the shots. “You choose.”

  


Merlin’s smile was wide with glee and he popped Bad Boys two into the DVD player.

  


***

  


“Well, I won’t argue that it’s a no holds barred, adrenaline fuelled thrill ride but there’s no way you could perpetrate that amount of carnage and mayhem without incurring a considerable amount of paperwork.,” Arthur pointed out twenty minutes into the movie.

 

“But it’s so cool. Car chases, gun fights,” Merlin cocked his fingers into guns and made firing sounds. “You must get them a lot in London.”

  


“Mostly we try to avoid it.”

  


“But that’s what being a cop is all about.”

  


“No, being a policeman is about putting yourself on the line between the bad guys and the public. To provide them a safe environment to live their lives. Or something like that.”

  


Merlin stilled and turned to Arthur, his eyes bright in the glow of explosions coming from the screen.

  


“That was…I really want to kiss you right now.” He slapped a hand over his mouth as if the words had escaped from him.

  


“You wha’?”

  


“Sorry. Sorry. That was so unprofessional.” Merlin looked aghast.

  


Arthur tapped his knee in a reassuring way. “’s okay.”

  


“Okay to kiss you? Or okay you’re not offended?”

  


Arthur mulled over this for a moment. The alcohol had softened the barrier behind which he had hidden the mental catalogue he’d made of Merlin over the past few days. Not only was he a good looking man in uniform, but he was also so sweet and endearing and actually liked Arthur.

  


He pushed forward and captured Merlin’s lips. It had been so long since he’d had actual intimate contact with someone, he somehow vindicated himself with the excuse.

  


Merlin moaned and returned the kiss.

  


Another explosion echoed in the background.

  


***

  


The once pristine, mock Regency manor that graced the block was now a blackened hole in the ground.

  


Arthur winced at the smell of burned meat and hair as the medical examiner wheeled the remains past him. It was technically his day off, but the Inspector had wanted everyone at the scene to do a thorough investigation.

  


Percival was already there, speaking to the press.

  


The CID boys, Galahad and Geraint were standing by the Fire Chief, chain smoking through an interview.

  


Merlin was hanging back, taking in the scene.

  


They had been awoken by Arthur’s mobile ringing loudly only thirty minutes earlier. Their limbs tangled and bellies sticky. Merlin had blushed, muttered something about a dead dog in his mouth before untangling himself and heading to the bathroom while Arthur took the call.

  


They hadn’t mentioned the night before and by the looks of it, had no intention of doing so. Ever.

  


“Fire Chief is ruling it an accident,” Galahad said, sauntering up to Arthur with all the cocky swagger of someone who watched too many 70s detective shows.

  


“An accident?” Arthur’s head throbbed a little harder.

  


“Yep. Old George was making a midnight feast and the gas leaked. Boom!” Geraint smiled.

  


“What about suspects?” Arthur wanted to strangle them both.

  


Geraint scratched an itch under his nose. His moustache was not only outdated, but itchy as hell. “Funny you should mention suspects. It has been mentioned that the last two people to be seen with old George 

was none other than you and your groupie over there.” He tilted his chin in Merlin’s direction.

  


“It’s utterly preposterous to assume that two police officers would kill Mr. Merchant.” Arthur was happy to punch them instead.

  


“Just as preposterous as assuming this is a murder,” Galahad actually used air quotes as he said murder.

  


Arthur clamped his jaw shut. Here and now was not where he wanted to have this argument.

  


“Fine, our statements will be on your desk before lunch.”

  


***

  


Gwen Summers ran the local newspaper – “Camelot Comment”.

  


She caught up with Arthur as he and Merlin were in the corner shop buying a much needed Red Bull and crisps.

  


“Lieutenant Pendragon,” she snuck up from behind, trapping him in the corner by the fridges. “I was wondering if you could comment on the explosion at George Merchant’s house early this morning.”

  


She smiled sweetly at him, her digital recorder aimed at his face. Arthur glanced around for back up, but Merlin was at the ice cream fridge, probably trying to choose between the chocolate or strawberry

Cornettos.

  


“It is an ongoing investigation, so I am unable to comment at this time.”

  


Ah yes, the good old fob off. Always worked in a situation like this.

  


“I heard they’d closed the investigation. Ruled it an accident.” Gwen frowned slightly. “Do you have alternative theories? Do you think this was to sabotage the new bypass the council has planned?”

  


Arthur blinked owlishly.

  


“After all,” Gwen continued. “Rumour has it George had been harassing the Andersons off Old Lily Lane to sell their land to him for months. Could the Anderson boys be behind this?”

  


With his mind reeling from the information, he muttered no comment and gently pushed past Gwen when he saw Merlin settle on an almond Magnum.

  


***

  


A call had come in about the local parish swan taking another walk about and had decided to spend the afternoon looking for it instead of being cooped up in the car together. Things were still a little awkward.

  


“Arthur, I think the swan went that way,” Merlin pointed towards some fields behind the church.

  


“Whose land is that?” he asked.

  


“Anderson family has been there since forever. I should call Gwaine; see if he’s seen the blasted swan.” Merlin pulled out his mobile and dialled a number.

  


Arthur forced himself to turn away from ogling the definition of Merlin’s arms. He kept getting Polaroid type flashbacks from their night. Neck, chest, stomach, hips. He shook his head and hunched down to check under a bramble bush.

  


“Gwaine says he’ll call if he sees it. Odd, usually he promises to shoot it first.”

  


“Killing a swan is-“

  


“-against the law. I know. Tower. Torture. Beheading.” Merlin waved it off. “It’s not like Gwaine’s a crack shot or anything. His brother Leon, though? He could take a fly out at a hundred meters.”

  


This gave Arthur pause. “Army?”

  


“Who?” Merlin had cupped his hands against his mouth, so the word was muffled.

  


“Leon.”

  


SQUAAACK “Leon dropped out of basic. Had a slight disagreement with the chain of command or some such. Odd, because he used to be our Scout leader.” SQUAAAAK

  


“What the hell are you doing?”

  


Merlin shrugged. “Swan call.”

  


Arthur stared at him.

  


“Hey, have you got any better ideas?” He let out another call.

  


Well, Arthur thought. If you can’t beat them…

  


***

  


“That’s amazing, do it again.”

  


Merlin was watching a card magician in the town square. Arthur was standing beside him, keeping an eye on the people around them. Since the eviction of the teens from the pub, he had not been the landlord’s favourite person.

  


A heavy arm slung across his shoulders.

  


“It should be illegal,” came the instant coffee and cigarette laced voice from beside him.

  


Arthur untangled himself from the arm and turned to see Bruce standing there with a grimace on his face.

  


“Card magic is hardly a crime,” Arthur pointed out.

  


“It’s hardly good, honest labour either.”

  


“Yes, it can’t stand up to over charging for baked beans.” He nodded towards the Somerfields down the road.

  


He could hear Bruce’s knuckles crack, yet the grimace pulled into a grin. Bruce barked a laugh. “Very funny, Lieutenant. Come by for some tea and biscuits some time.”

  


He thumped Arthur on the back in a friendly farewell. Arthur didn’t notice. His eyes were on two men leaving the pub. A rifle slung on their shoulders.

  


“Merlin,” Arthur motioned for him to follow.

  


He caught up with the two men, and swung to face them. The men gave him a puzzled look.

  


“You got a license for those?” he asked.

  


The men turned to each other and exchanged a few quiet words. One was dark and unshaven. The other, blonde and just as unshaven. Their flannel shirts and faded jeans were streaked with dark splotches of mud.

  


“Gwaine. Leon.” Merlin came up next to Arthur.

  


Gwaine smiled and nodded towards Arthur.

  


“Oh, he’s our new lieutenant,” Merlin explained.

  


Leon grinned and shook his shoulders. Merlin blushed.

  


“No. and stop it.”

  


“Friends of yours?” Arthur asked.

  


“The Anderson brothers. Gwaine and Leon.” Merlin paused before turning to Gwaine. “You never called. Did you shoot the swan?”

  


Gwaine raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

  


“Why aren’t they talking?” Arthur asked, getting irritated.

  


“They’re the stoic type.”

  


“But they understand English, right?”

  


“Yeah. They just choose not to speak it.”

  


Arthur stifled the urge to slap his hands over his face and click his heels together three times.

  


Leon pointed at Arthur and asked something in Gaelic.

  


“Yeah, of course he can ask. So, do you have licenses?” Merlin responded.

  


Gwaine smiled and pointed to his gun, nodding. Then he shrugged, his head motioning towards their home.

  


Arthur narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What was that?”

  


“They have licenses for these guns.” Merlin shrugged.

  


“These guns? Are there more?”

  


Merlin looked at Leon who nodded.

  


“Yes.”

  


***

  


The Anderson weapons haul produced some surprises. Amongst them, Roman weapons, Viking swords and helmets, muskets, a few canons and a defunct Second World War submarine mine.

  


Apparently the Andersons were collectors and amateur archeologists.

  


The antiques were kept company by a few dozen AK47s, semi automatics, six double barrel sawn off rifles and various hand guns.

  


When Arthur asked them to explain this side of the collection, Leon had shrugged and Gwaine mimed zombies.

  


The Anderson brothers were a walking migraine.

  


Gaius was quite impressed by the confiscation and had begun researching auction houses for the antiques.

  


***

  


That night, Merlin insisted they celebrate before the brothers broke into the police station to reclaim their property.

  


Percival, Galahad, Geraint, Lance - the desk sergeant- and Arthur crowded around a small table in the pub.  


  


“So you’re saying there have never been any murders in this village, ever?” Arthur was incredulous.

  


“Well, as long as we can remember.” Percival moved to the side as Merlin placed the drinks on the table and took a seat across from Arthur. “Hey, remember the hippies?”

  


“Gypsies, wasn’t it?” Galahad took a sip of his beer.

  


“Gypsies is not the PC term. We use ‘trav-“

  


Galahad cut Arthur off with a wave of his hand. “Po-tay-toe. Po-tay-toe.” He sneered. “Anyways, story goes some hippy dippy gypsy traveller types moved into the ruins a few years ago. All sorts of odd things started happening. Cats disappearing. Babies being stolen in the night. The like. You know?”

  


Arthur nodded to keep the story going, suspending his disbelief.

  


“The lieutenant at the time was investigating things. He kept saying it wasn’t the gypos…I mean hippies. Said they were all law abiding and such. He disappeared shortly after. Gypsies disappeared a day later.”

  


“You’re saying the travellers killed him and then fled?” Arthur tried to make sense of the story.

  


“Makes sense, right?” Percival said, downing his pint.

  


“Why would they kill the one person standing up for them?” Arthur frowned.

  


“That’s how those types are,” Geraint belched and scratched his moustache.

  


“I remember hearing from Martin; bless him, that they called themselves Druids.” Said Arthur. “That’s where he got the idea to do the show.”

  


Everyone was still for a moment, a quick nod to his passing.

  


“Next round’s on Geraint,” Percival broke the silence, slapping Geraint hard on the back.

  


***

  


Arthur had decided that there was indeed a far more dangerous creature than a drug dealer. It was cleverly disguised as a pleasant village woman with a neat garden.

  


The truth is, the Camelot Ladies Social Club would have given Al Capone palpitations with their ability to wrangle favours out of unsuspecting citizens.

  


The official reason for the town fete was to raise money to repair the old church, especially the roof. Arthur suspected it was more of an excuse to compare homemade preserves and oversized crops.

  


It was a hot, muggy day and sweat was running down Arthur’s back under his uniform, as he stood under a tree in the church grounds allocated for the fun fair. To the right, was a large pig on a spit, closely supervised by the CID boys. There was a growing tower of empty beer cans nearby.

  


There were game stalls dotted between the trees and he recognised Percival at the dunk tank, Lance painting children’s faces with butterflies and Bruce manning the wack-a-rat stand. At second glance, it seemed Bruce had taken a particular interest in Gwen, who was interviewing Morgana a few feet away.

  


“Two tickets please,” Mrs. Cooper was smiling at him from under a wide brimmed straw-hat. She ran the Inn where he was staying and was the reason Arthur had been shanghaied into manning the tombola stand.

  


He gave her his best professional smile and handed over the tickets. “Good luck,” he said softly.

  


Gwen almost shoved Mrs. Cooper out of the way as she stepped towards the table, a folded five pound note in her hand.

  


“One ticket, please,” she said, eyes darting around.

  


Arthur handed her the ticket and she quickly slipped away.

  


The five pound note crinkled oddly in his hand. As he unfolded it, a small slip of paper fell into the money tray.

“Big things afoot.

Courtyard. 3pm”

  


A glance at the tower clock showed five minutes'til three. Arthur looked around for an excuse to leave.

  


Reverend Shooter caught his elbow and steered him towards a makeshift stage.

  


“Would you honour us by handing out the prizes for the draw?”

  


The father’s tone made Arthur feel he didn’t had much choice in the matter. Surely it would be over and he’ll be able to meet Gwen.

  


“Right, ladies and gents. Step closer. Time for the tombola lucky draw.”

  


On a table next to the men was a large cylinder, set up not unlike the spitted pig. The reverend rotated the handle a few times, spinning the cylinder. Arthur kept his eyes on the clock.

  


Reverend Shooter opened a latch in the cylinder and indicated for Arthur to stick his hand in and draw a slip of paper. Not paying much attention, Arthur did just that and handed it over.

  


3 minutes gone.

  


“And the winner is Bruce Skinner. Bruce?” The father looked around.

  


“He’s in the loo,” shouted Mrs Cooper from the small audience.

  


“Then he’s just flushed away his chances,” The father grinned and motioned for Arthur to choose another slip of paper.

  


“Ah, Gwen Summers. Where’s lovely Gwen got to?”

  


Four minutes gone.

  


There was a murmur from the audience, but no one spoke up.

  


Arthur kept his eyes on the clock, the seconds counting down.

  


4 minutes, thirty seconds gone.

  


“Bugger this,” he muttered and leapt off the stage, running for the courtyard.

  


As he turned the corner, there stood Gwen. She looked up as she heard him skid in the gravel and opened her mouth to speak.

  


An instant later, a large gargoyle occupied the space where she had stood.

  


Reacting on instinct, Arthur looked up and noticed a flash of a black cape. He ran for the tower door and flung the heavy wood open so hard, the hinges whined.

  


There was a continuous spiral of stairs leading up to the roof of the tower. Three hundred and eighty two, to be exact.

  


By steps two hundred, Arthur’s legs were burning and sweat was running off him. Within a few minutes, Arthur swung open the roof access door.

  


The roof was deserted.

  


***

  


It was a solemn end to what was meant to be a pleasant day. It didn’t help that the heavens had gathered and began dumping buckets of water on everyone.

  


The CID boys were miserably interviewing locals who were at the fair. Lance and Percival were tight lipped as they processed the scene.

  


Rain water dripped off Arthur’s hat and ran down his back. The sweat from earlier had mingled with the rain water, making his back itch. He ignored all the dirty looks his fellow officers sent his way.

  


“So, definitely murder,” Merlin was standing beside him, looking like a drenched puppy.

  


“Unless you can find a reason why a gargoyle would just leap off the roof – and don’t even think about saying that the roof was old – I saw someone up there.” Arthur caught and held Merlin’s eyes for a long moment. He was hoping to somehow make him see that he wasn’t some murder mad detective out to solve all the crimes…but… “You know this doesn’t feel right.”

  


Merlin nodded. “Look, Arthur, its late. Let’s go. I’ve got some beers with our names on them at home.”

  


Arthur couldn’t say no.

  


***

  


Merlin was lying on the couch, beer balanced on his stomach as he watched reruns of the Thin Blue Line. Arthur had given up trying to concentrate on Rowan Atkinson’s antics and was sitting on the floor, his back against the couch. Merlin’s knees would graze his head whenever he moved.

  


On his lap was a notepad. On the floor around him were old articles Gwen had written about the town.

  


“You can’t switch off, can you?” Merlin lightly knocked his knee against Arthur’s head.

  


“Gwen was onto something. Look, we have the Anderson land that Merchant wanted for a development. We have Martin who was shagging Eve-“

  


“Who worked for the council.” Merlin drained his beer and sat up. “But how does that connect the Andersons to Martin? Why kill him?”

  


“That is what I can’t figure out. I’m missing something.”

  


Merlin slid from his seat onto the floor next to Arthur and took his ink stained hand.

  


“Somehow, when we’re like this, I don’t think we are missing anything,” Merlin leaned over and kissed him. “I think with a little bit of deliberation we can figure out what links these deaths.”

  


“We?” Arthur blinked at him.

  


“Yes. Proper police work for a change,” Merlin smiled.  


 

“Come on partner, let’s go to work.”

 

***

“First, Gwen Summers.” Arthur stood in front of Merlin, beer in hand.

  


“Journalist for the Camelot Comment,” said Merlin.

 

“Fondness for puns.”

 

“Go on.”

 

“Terrible speller,” Arthur winced.  “But nevertheless had uncovered important information about...”

 

“George Merchant.”

 

“Self made millionaire.”

 

“Fancied himself as a property developer,” Merlin jabbed a thumb towards the window.

 

“Had big plans for Camelot.”

 

“Pissed on the floor in the pub.”

 

“But more importantly, was a good friend and client of...”

  


“Respected solicitor and leading light of the local drama society,” said Merlin. “Bad actor,” he added

 

“Undoubtedly,” Arthur smiled.

 

“Bad driver.”

 

“Not necessarily.”

 

“Cheated on his missus,” Merlin pointed out.

 

“Most certainly and we both know who with?”

 

“Eve Draper.”

  


“Blower’s leading lady.” Arthur tapped his clipboard.

 

Merlin pulled Arthur onto the couch. “I’m getting unbelievably turned on by this.”

  


Arthur laughed. “Keep on point Officer.”

 

“She had a distinctive laugh,” Merlin said after planting a quick kiss on Arthur’s lips.

 

“Oh yes.”

 

“Liked older men.” Merlin kissed Arthur on the neck.

 

“Finally, where did she work?”

 

“Council.” Another kiss.

 

Arthur tried not to squirm.

 

“Specifically?”

 

“The department of planning and development.” Another kiss, just below the ear.

 

“Where George Merchant had secured permission to build his dubious mansion.”

 

“So...” A nibble to an earlobe.

 

“Gwen Summers was onto something about George Merchant who was into something with Martin Blower who was up to something with Eve Draper.” Arthur was losing his train of thought.

 

“And Simon Skinner has something to do with it all.” A peck and nibble at the base of Arthur’s neck. “But he runs the local supermarket.”

 

“So?” Arthur was holding onto the last shreds of his control.

 

“I don’t know, I mean, maybe it was all accidents. People have accidents everyday. Gary Butcher drowned in his own septic tank the other week.” Merlin suggested with a shrug.

 

Arthur sighed in annoyance and tried to push Merlin away, who in turn just tightened his arms and tilted Arthur to lie on the couch.

 

“Now,” Merlin said between kisses down Arthur’s chest. “Switch that brain off police mode and into sex mode. Okay?”

 

***

For someone who prides himself in his observational skills, Arthur felt as if he’d disappointed himself by not realising it was Merlin’s birthday. The extended pub lunch and tea time cake didn’t penetrate his mind, which was bursting with unanswerable questions.

  


Feeling that the orgasms they’d had earlier that morning could not replace a good and proper present, Arthur raced to the other side of the village. There was a gardening centre owned by a young woman. She had long black hair and huge green eyes. Rumour has it; she is Bruce’s ex wife.

  


“Good afternoon Morgana,” Arthur said, removing his hat as he stepped into the shop.

  


“Arthur,” she smiled as she pulled off some soiled gardening gloves. “What can I do for you?”

  


“Japanese Peace Lily. Got any of those?”

  


“Aisle four, I think. Come along,” she stepped out from behind the counter.

  


“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you closing down?” Arthur pointed to a closure sale sign above the daffodils.

  


“No. Well, yes. I’m moving away. It’s all a bit out of the blue. I was planning to disappear quietly actually. I do so hate goodbyes.” Morgana stopped by a shelf holding Japanese Peace Lilies.

 

“And why the move, if you don’t mind me asking?”

 

“Well, just between you and me...” Morgana glanced around, biting her lip.

 

“Yes?”

 

“You know that man who blew up?”

 

“George Merchant.”

 

“That’s him, well George Merchant - god rest him - he wanted to buy this land, so he sends round his legal minion Martin Blower - god rest him - I thought I might take them up on it, because I’ve been thinking about moving for some time, I haven’t really got that much family round here, save for my ex. And while the ‘Village Of The Year’ stuff is great and everything, I don’t really see anything from it, so I thought I might take them up on the offer and move to Buford Abbey. Would you like a card with this?”

 

“No, it’s okay. You were saying about the offer?” Arthur’s head began to spin with the information.

 

“Well, it turns out that Martin Blower - god rest him - knew where the new bypass road is going because he was knocking off Eve Draper from the council - god rest her - then that reporter - god rest him - finds out about the route and tells me the land’s very valuable, ten times what George Merchant and Martin Blower - god rest them - offered me. So with them having passed on and me still owning the land, I decided to sell it on myself to some folks from the city that Martin, George and Eve - god rest the lot of them - had been talking to, apparently they want to build a big shopping centre or something, of course Bruce won’t be too happy about that, but as far as I’m concerned he can go fuck himself.”

 

Arthur stood agog for a few moments.

  


“That’s twelve pounds,” said Morgana.

  


Arthur reached for his wallet and realised he’d left it in the car. He stepped outside, leaned in through the window, grabbed it off the dashboard and turned back to the shop.

  


Morgana was lying face down on her counter, garden sheers poking out of her head, and a black cloaked figure sprinting down the green house path in the back.

  


Arthur gave chase.

***

  


Wallet forgotten, Arthur pulled his gun and fired through the glass of the shop front, shattering it. He bolted through the pot plants into the back yard. Halfway through the glass greenhouses was the figure. 

  


Arthur followed, jumping over garden furniture and skidding on gravel.

  


He closed in on the figure as it turned a corner and slowed a pace. Arthur tackled him from behind, throwing them both through a glass wall. The figure squirmed violently until he broke free and kicked Arthur in the collarbone.

  


As Arthur rolled to the side, biting back a moan, the figure ran off, leaving a small trail of blood in his wake.

  


***

  


Arthur stormed into the police station, breaking up the little birthday party in the bullpen.

  


"Morgana has just been murdered!" he shouted. "There are no fucking accidents. There is a fucking hooded fuckwit running around the goddamned village killing people!"

  


The sound of small change rattled into the swear tin.

 

"Thank you Merlin!" Arthur was still shouting.

 

Everyone had gone quiet.

 

“MORGANA GALOIS WAS MURDERED!” Arthur shouted at the silent bull pen.

 

“What just like Gwen Summers?” piped up Galahad.

 

“Yes!”

 

“And George Merchant?” asked Geraint

 

“Yes!”

 

“And Eve Draper?” Galahad snapped his gum.

 

“Yes!” Arthur was beginning to get rather exasperated at this point.

 

“And Martin Blower?” Geraint frowned.

 

“No, actually.”

 

“Really?” The Gs looked up.

 

“COURSE HE FUCKING WAS!” Arthur shouted.

 

Merlin dropped some more change into the swear jar.

 

“Thank you Merlin.”

 

“Oh Murder. Murder. Murder. Change the fucking record,” sneered Geraint.

 

Galahad copies Merlin and drops some change in the swear jar.

 

“Thank you Galahad.”

 

“Yes come on Lieutenant, you’ve got to accept that it was another terrible accident,” Lance tried to defuse the tension.

 

“Are you suggesting Morgana somehow tripped and fell on her own shears?” Arthur rounded on him.

 

“Ben Fletcher fell on his pitchfork the other week,” Percival pointed out.

 

Vivian rolled her eyes. “People have accidents everyday. What makes you think it was murder?”

 

“Because I was there,” cried Arthur.

 

Galahad pointed a finger at him. “Yeah, that’s a point. Why were you there?”

 

“I was buying a Japanese Peace Lily for Officer Emrys’s birthday.”

 

“What absolute horseshit,” snapped Geraint.

 

“Look, I chased a suspect from the scene. Innocent people don’t run.”

 

“It might have been our old friend the cactus thief again,” joked Lance.

 

“Yeah, he was a prickly customer,” giggled Vivian.

 

Arthur couldn’t roll his eyes hard enough. “Am I going completely mad?”

 

“Maybe you are?” Galahad shrugged.

 

Geraint sneered. “Yeah, maybe you killed her, seeing as you’re such a big-“

 

Lieutenant Pendragon had never struck a fellow officer before, and if it hadn’t been for Merlin grabbing his right arm, that may have changed.

 

Merlin turned Arthur to look at him.

 

The look was soul deep. With a nod, Merlin dropped Arthur’s arm and stood next to him. "I believe him."

 

"Don’t be ridiculous," Gaius spluttered. "We’ve never had a murder here."

 

"Well things have changed, haven't they?" Arthur cried.

 

"Who’s the culprit then?"

 

"I...I...don't know. He was wearing a black cloak. I couldn't see his face."

 

"So," Geraint spoke around a mouth full of cake, "this murderer is a Halloween character?"

 

Arthur stepped towards Geraint. "How about taking this seriously. Morgana is dead. Lance, why haven't you left yet?"

 

Lance didn't reply, just sighed, picked up his car keys and, left the office.

 

"What I want to know is why all these murders started when you arrived." Galahad sucked air between his teeth as he picked at them with a paperclip.

 

All eyes turned to Arthur, eyebrows raised, including Gaius's.

 

Arthur knew at that moment, he'd lost the battle. He glared at each person and stormed back out of the police station.

 

Merlin caught up with him at his car. "Where are you going?" he asked.

 

"Home."

 

"You’re not going to let them bully you, are you?"

 

"No, but I can solve the case better from there." Arthur spat out.

 

"Maybe you should take the night off. You're in shock from-"

 

"Merlin. What the fuck? You think I'm mental too?"

 

"No. I'm on your side. I swear. I just...its...there’s no evidence."

 

"There’s a woman pinned to her counter and blood everywhere. What more evidence do you need?" Arthur ripped open his car door and paused. "One day, you'll be an excellent lieutenant. You just need to grow the balls to stand up for yourself." with that, he climbed behind the wheel. He couldn’t look at Merlin’s face as he drove away.

 

***

 

As Arthur was driving through the village, he spotted Bruce walking towards Somerfields eating an ice cream. He screeched to a halt in front of him, blocking the pavement and jumped out of the car.

 

"Bruce... You're under arrest for the murder of your ex wife Morgana..."

 

Arthur had the cuffs in his hands.

 

Bruce stood there, frozen. A crowd started to gather.

 

"What?" spluttered Bruce.

 

Arthur continued to recite Bruce’s rights as he moved to handcuff him. Suddenly Arthur landed on the pavement and Bruce was off.

 

The crowd closed in on him, blocking his view as he struggled to his feet, jaw throbbing form the punch Bruce landed.

 

"Which way did he go?" Arthur asked.

 

An old woman smacked him with her handbag. "How dare you try to arrest Bruce for anything. He’s an upstanding citizen of this-"

 

"He killed his own wife in cold blood," Arthur bit out.

 

There was a collective gasp from the crowd. Mrs Cooper pushed though a group of school children.

 

"If anyone killed Morgana, it would be that no good Gwaine Anderson."

 

By now, Arthur was on his feet, dusting off his uniform. He scowled at Mrs. Cooper. "What has Gwaine Anderson have to do with this?"

 

"Everyone knows they're living in sin," said the handbag owner.

 

Arthur shook his head and retreated to his car and quickly retreated from the town square.

 

He drove to the old ruins, parked the car and sat down on one of the old fallen building stones.

 

The realisation that Bruce couldn’t be the killer left a sour taste in his mouth. Anyone who was injured as badly as the killer wouldn’t have been able to attack him and flee as quickly.

 

By now, the sun was low on the horizon, painting the stones blood red.

 

And suddenly Arthur's world went black.

 

***

When Arthur came too, he knew things had gone very wrong.

 

The hood over his head was claustrophobic, the ground under him damp and cold, the air musty...with a hint of rot.

 

That didn't bother him as much as the chanting. It was an indistinguishable language, made of guttural moans and howls.

 

Suddenly the chanting stopped.

 

"Right," he heard Mrs Cooper's distinct faux Sloane accent. "Before we begin, young Lily and David on Farnsworth Street had twin boys last night."

 

There was a general coo. The kind that usually accompanies birth announcements.

 

"That’s lovely," came Mrs Porter’s reedy voice. "Shall we send them a fruit basket?"

 

"Nappy basket, more like," that was Reverend Shooter.

 

What in all bloody hell was going on?

 

He struggled against the ropes around his wrists and ankles.

 

"Looks like someone’s awake," observed the reverend.

 

Two pairs of strong arms hauled him to his feet. Arthur overbalanced and nearly hit the ground face first but the arms held him fast.

 

"Oh for goodness sake, untie his feet at least," grouched Gaius.

 

Arthur shook his head. How was Gaius part of this?

 

"If you're planning on killing me, you may as well take the hood off," he growled.

 

The hood was ripped from his head and in the dim light of four torches, he saw Mrs Cooper, The Reverend, Bruce, The Landlord, his wife, Doctor Reaper and Gaius were staring at him.

 

“This could cost you your job Gaius,” warned Arthur. “Untie me so we can sort this out without too much paperwork.”

 

Gaius let out a bitter laugh. “You can’t think we’re that stupid. You are a loose cannon, and we can’t afford loose cannons.” Gaius swept his hand to the side, unblocking one of the torches and causing Arthur to gasp.

 

In the corner were piles of bodies in various stages of decomposition. Some were a few days fresh, whilst others were decades old.

 

“What the hell is that?” he spluttered.

 

“Loose cannons,” said Mrs Cooper. “Can’t have them ruining our village.”

 

“Ruining your… you know, we can’t really use the word crazy anymore but I feel it applies to this situation.”

 

Merlin stepped out from the shadows.

 

“Merlin! Merlin! You need to help me.” Arthur begged.

 

“I can’t. It’s all for the greater good.” Merlin said, softly.

 

“The greater good,” echoed the others.

 

“What were their crimes?”

 

“Magic,” hissed Gaius.

 

Arthur had to stop for a moment and gather his thoughts. “I’m sorry, did you say magic? You murdered innocent people because they had magic? Magic doesn’t even exist!”

 

“Not while we’re in charge,” said Mr Porter.

 

“So this has nothing to do with the Anderson land and the new bypass plans?”

 

Mrs Cooper laughed. “It is a bit convenient that they all fit in, but no.”

 

“Can’t have the village of the year committee walking into our town square and being turned into rabbits now, can we?” said Bruce.

 

“You should be ashamed of yourselves. This is supposed to be the community that cares!” cried Arthur.

 

“Oh, but we do care Lieutenant.” Reverend Shooter smirked.

 

“It’s all about the greater good.” Mrs Cooper stated.

 

“The greater good.” Those around the table echoed.

 

“What do you mean the greater good?” Arthur demanded.

 

“The greater good,” they repeated.

 

“Camelot, Arthur. The village,” explained Bruce.

“A happy village is a healthy village,” Doctor Reaper added.

 

“Perfection breeds contentment and contentment is paramount,” said Gaius.

 

“You see, as much as I enjoyed your wild theories Lieutenant, the truth is far less complex. Blower’s fate was simply the result of his being an appalling actor,” smirked Bruce.

 

There’s a murmur of “appalling”.

 

“You murdered him for that?” Arthur was on the verge of losing his mind.

 

“The Camelot Players is an important feather in our cap,” said Mrs Cooper

 

Doctor Reaper blustered. “We couldn’t let Blower jeopardize that with his Pagan rituals thinly disguised as theatre. Not when we had two semi-professionals waiting in the wings.”

 

“Let us not forget Greg was an extra in Straw Dogs-“ Bruce pointed to a figure lurking in the shadows.

 

“Yes, I know!” Arthur snapped.

 

“Martin was less concerned with the reputation of the village than his sordid affair with Eve Draper,” sniffed Mrs Cooper.

 

“And so Eve deserved to die too?”

 

“The homage wasn’t the first pagan orgy she partook in,” sneered Doctor Reaper. “And she did have an annoying laugh,”

 

There’s a murmur of ‘annoying’.

 

“And George Merchant?” Arthur pushed on, hoping to delay his death.

 

“He had an awful house,” snarled Bruce. “And saw himself as a magician. Card tricks and pulling rabbits out of hats. Bloody awful.”

 

There’s a murmur of “awful”.

 

“We begged him in vain to make his residence more in keeping with the village’s rustic aesthetic,” said Mrs. Cooper.

 

“What was Summer’s crime?” Arthur wished he could record this. He glanced at Arthur whose internal war was evident on his face.

 

Bruce stood up. “Gwen Summer’s tenure as editor of the Camelot Comment, our great paper had become riddled with tabloid journalism and dreadful punnery. Not to mention persistent errors.”

 

“He listed her age as 55,” chimed in Roy Porter.

 

“When I’m actually 53,” added his wife.

 

“The church roof was in need of repair and the insurers wouldn’t pay unless it was certified hazardous. Let’s just say we killed two birds with one stone,” said Reverend Shooter.

 

Arthur was starting to panic. “What about Morgana? One of your own? Her horticultural expertise helped put Camelot on the map.”

 

“She was ever so good,” crooned Mrs Cooper. “But she had The Sight. Liked to give Tarot Readings and all that muck.”

 

“Killing that tart ex wife was a terrible shame. But it seems she was set on moving away,” said Bruce, sinking back into his seat. “We had to stop her before she shared her green fingers with anyone else.”

 

“Not least the heathens at Buford Abbey,” huffed Mrs. Cooper.

 

“If we can’t have her no-one can,” Bruce punctuated his point by smacking his hand against the stone table top.

 

“How can this be for the greater good?!” Arthur cried.

 

“The greater good,” they all echoed.

 

“Shut it,” Arthur snapped. “These people died for no reason, no reason whatsoever!”

 

Gaius stood up and walked towards Arthur.

 

“I was like you once Arthur. I believed in the immutable word of the law. That is until the night Mrs. Gaius was taken from me. You see, no-one loved Camelot more than her. She was head of the Women’s 

Institute, chair of the ‘floral committee’, even ran the Neighbourhood Watch before Tom. When they started the ‘Village of the Year’ contest, she worked round the clock, it became her life. I’ve never seen such 

dedication. On the eve of the adjudicator’s arrival, some travellers moved into Callahan Park. Before you could say gypsy scum, we were knee deep in dog muck, thieving kids and crusty jugglers. We lost the title 

and Alice lost her mind. She drove her Datsun Cherry into Camelot Gorge. The inquiry said it was an accident but I knew better. From that moment on I swore that I’d do her proud. Drive out the cursed magic 

users. And whatever the cost, we’d make Camelot great again.”

 

There was a pause as the story sank in. Arthur glanced at Merlin, chilled by the stoic mask he wore.

 

“Sir, this doesn’t make sense,” Arthur said.

 

Arthur tried to catch Merlin’s eye. “But… but I don’t have magic,” he said. “No reason to kill me.”

 

“No magic but you’re a right pain in the arse,” said Gaius. “We can’t have that now, can we? Merlin, you know what to do.”

 

Merlin grabbed Arthur from behind, crushing his bound arms between them. The knife was long, sharp and gleamed in the low light. Arthur screamed as Merlin slit his throat.

 

***

Arthur awoke with a start, gasping for breath. He was in the front passenger seat of a Fiat Panda. Merlin was driving.

 

“You killed me!” he exclaimed. “You slit my throat and killed me!”

 

“And yet here you are, bitching at me,” Merlin pointed out, swerving into a bumpy country lane and killed the engine.

 

“How…?”

 

“It’s an old prop knife I found at the fair. I thought it was pretty cool. Never knew it would come in handy. And the old Vulcan death grip trick. That’s what made you pass out.”

 

Merlin hesitantly extended his arm, his hand gently grazing Arthur’s neck where it was sticky with fake blood.

 

“I could never hurt you,” he murmured before dropping his hand.

 

“Take me back to town. Let’s end this,” Arthur begged.

 

Merlin gave him a heartbreaking look. “I can’t Arthur. I’m involved now. I have to do what Gaius says. He’s like a father to me. I can’t get out. But you can. Take the car, go back to London. There’s nothing you can do.”

 

Arthur bristled. “I can come back. And I can bring the blue fury of the Metropolitan Police Service with me.”

 

“They’ll make it all disappear. They hid it from everyone else. Who are they gonna believe? Gaius, or the loony London copper?”

 

“But you’ll be here won’t you Merlin? We can do this together. You and me. Partners.

 

Merlin shook his head. “Forget it Arthur. It’s Camelot.”

 

“Bollocks. Take me back. I have a lot of people to arrest.”

 

“Including Gaius?”

 

Arthur bit his lip.

 

“Look,” Merlin opened his door and climbed out of the car. He walked around to the passenger side and opened Arthur’s door. A set of keys were pressed into his palm. “Go. Get out of here. Go back to London. It’s safer for you.”

 

Arthur glared at Merlin. “You know what you are? Spineless. Fucking coward.”

 

“It's more complicated than that.”

 

Arthur climbed out of the car, roughly pushing Merlin away. “I could arrest you right now for assisting and abetting a crime.”

 

“Just get out of here.” Merlin pointed towards the road.

 

Arthur looked at the road, then back at Merlin. He couldn’t leave it like this. Arthur grabbed Merlin by the collar.

  


“I’m so angry with you right now, but if you want me to go, let me take one thing with me.” Arthur kissed him as if the world was ending.

  


He then climbed into Merlin’s car and drove towards London.

  


***

  


The bright lights of a service station and the blinking fuel light on the Panda’s dashboard made Arthur’s decision easy. He pulled in and filled up the car.

  


When he stepped into the shop to pay for the fuel, a rack of DVDs caught his eye. In the center, was Point Blank next to Bad Boys two. His mind flashed back to the evenings spent at Merlin’s flat, watching the 

movies. Merlin’s love for the action packed sequences. His impersonations of the action heroes he admired. His bright blue eyes and his deep, belly laughs.

  


Arthur’s heart swelled before breaking into a million pieces.

  


Merlin was his home. Could have been his home. It was something Arthur had never experienced before and in that moment; he decided it was what he was going to fight for.

  


Armed with a bag full of spray-paint cans, some chewing gum and a pair of reflective aviators, Arthur turned back towards Camelot.

  


***

  


Farmer Cleaver breathed in the fresh morning air as he drove along the border of his farm.

  


“What a beautiful day,” he thought to himself.

  


Approaching him was a familiar Fiat Panda.

  


He pulled over his beaten up land rover and waved down the car.

  


“Good morning Mer-“ The words died on his lips as Arthur stepped out of the car.

  


“You!” shouted the farmer and launched himself at the lieutenant. Arthur ducked to the side and delivered a powerful blow to the man’s stomach.

  


The farmer crumpled to the ground. Arthur dragged him towards the hedge post and handcuffed the farmer.

  


“Now you stay here until I’m done. Then I’ll process your sorry arse.”

  


“You can’t do this!” The farmer cried.

  


Arthur spotted the farmer’s horses in the field behind the hedge. He had an idea.

  


***

  


Sergeant Owaine nodded a good morning to Lieutenant Pendragon as he walked into the police station. The lieutenant headed straight for the evidence room.

  


As he walked back out, Vivian was chatting to Owaine at the front desk. Arthur was kitted out with two shotguns, four handguns and oddly enough, a sword. Vivian’s eyes followed him as he left.

  


“That’s odd,” she remarked.

  


“What is?” Owaine was reading an article on celebrity cellulite in Heat magazine.

  


“I didn’t know we had a mounted division,” she said.

  


“Nobody tells me nothing,” Owaine muttered.

  


***

  


Arthur sat atop the horse and slowly ambled down the high street towards the town square.

  


Merlin was in his squad car when he spotted the unusual sight in his rear view mirror. He jumped out the car and ran towards Arthur.

  


“You’re back!” he exclaimed. “Why are you back?”

  


“I realised that I had something to fight for.”

  


The look they shared was loaded, Merlin’s wide smile slowly dissipating.

  


“Give me one of those,” Merlin pointed at a shotgun. Arthur handed it to him along with a pair of matching reflective aviators.

  


“Shit just got real?” Merlin’s American accent was spot on.

  


“Shit just got real,” Arthur agreed.

  


Arthur dismounted and joined Merlin as they slowly made their way through the silent town square.

  


All the members of the neighbourhood watch had frozen and were following their every step.

  


It was Old Man Monmouth who fired first, releasing Bullet from his leash and pulling an AK47 from beneath his overcoat.

  


His fire pinned the boys down behind the fountain.

  


Annette, who owned the corner shop behind the boys, opened her first floor window and with a semi automatic, rained bullets down on them.

  


Arthur signaled to the school children he’d run into earlier and they flooded through the shop doors and up stairs to subdue the shopkeeper. They had already taken the spray-paint and covered all the cctv cameras in the town.

  


Arthur saw his chance and fired two shots at a strap holding beer kegs in place on the delivery truck behind Monmouth. The kegs rolled off the deck and knocked the old man off his feet.

  


The Porters stepped out of the pub; each armed with a shotgun and began shooting at the pair as they ducked from around the fountain to behind the delivery truck.

  


Mrs. Cooper came out of the Inn and fired her Sig at them.

  


Arthur turned and shot down a hanging flower pot above her head, knocking her out.

  


The Porters had ducked inside the pub to reload.

  


Abandoning their shotguns, the boys pulled out their handguns and like a scene from Merlin’s favourite movie, they jumped through the door sideways, firing at the Porters hiding behind the bar.

  


Bottles exploded and glasses shattered behind the bar as Merlin and Arthur upturned a table to hide behind.

  


The back and forth lasted until Gaius stepped into the pub.

  


“Leave this to me,” he shouted at the Porters and began firing on the boys. They ducked behind another table.

  


“Gaius,” cried Merlin. “Stop this!”

  


“No!” shouted Gaius. “This is my town. I will run it the way I see fit!”

  


Merlin stood up from behind the table, a bullet zinging past his head into the mirror behind him above the fireplace. It shattered and rained glass shards everywhere.

  


He didn’t flinch. Gaius lowered his weapon.

  


“It's unreasonable. It’s ridiculous. Magic doesn’t exist. You can’t persecute people for something that isn’t even real.”

  


“It’s real enough to them. They bring it in here, attracting the like and before we know, it’s sodding Glastonbury.”

  


Arthur carefully looked around the edge of the table and spied an old bear trap hanging from the ceiling. With a single shot, it dropped on Gaius’s head. With a howl of pain, the Inspector collapsed to the floor.

  


Merlin gave him an incredulous look. Arthur just shrugged and stood up.

  


Suddenly the Anderson brothers, along with the entire Camelot police service (all six of them) barreled through the pub doors.

  


“What in heaven’s name is going on?” asked Percival, taking in the carnage and unconscious Inspector on the floor.

  


“We’re sorting shit out,” Arthur said. “You want to help us?”

  


Everyone except the Gs nodded.

  


“You can’t go shooting up the town,” argued Galahad.

  


A bullet pinged off his riot helmet. He looked through the window and saw Doctor Reaper walking towards them, a Sig in each hand.

  


“Fucking hell,” shouted Geraint and fired at the Doctor. His shots ran wide.

  


Gwaine lowered his magnum and shot the Doctor in the knee. The man went down with a cry.

  


“On second thought,” Geraint nodded at Arthur.

  


“Right, the neighbourhood watch has been killing people off for years. Not just for going against their wishes, but also for even hinting at having magic. Now, I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to die 

because I painted my front door the wrong colour.” There was a pointed look leveled at Owaine.

  


“Fine,” he muttered.

  


”What’s the plan?” asked Percival.

  


“Bruce Skinner.” Replied Arthur. “We need to take him down.”

  


“Storm Somerfields?” Vivian’s riot helmet hung over her eyes.

  


“Exactly.” Said Arthur. “Let’s go.”

  


The Camelot Police Service and the Anderson brothers carefully made their way out the pub and down the road towards the Somerfields.

  


Reverend Shooter was standing in the middle of the road, arms raised.

  


“Now, children,” his voice boomed. “Stop this mindless blood spilling. God doesn’t condone violence.”

  


“Oh fuck off and go read the Old Testament,” shouted Leon, much to everyone’s surprise.

  


“In that case,” the reverend pulled out a revolver from his belt and fired on eh group. Lance shot a bullet through his shoulder.

  


They ignored the man’s pleas as they walked past.

  


***

  


The Somerfields loomed ahead of them as they crossed the parking lot. Arthur was beginning to realise that this may have been a tactical error until Merlin gently bumped elbows with him and smiled 

reassuringly.

  


They gathered to the side of the entrance.

  


“Now what?” asked Owaine.

  


“Two teams,” answered Leon. “Sweep the aisles from the perimeter inwards, trapping anyone in the middle.”

  


Everyone looked at Arthur. “What he said.”

  


They entered the shop, the glass doors swooshing closed behind them. Soft pop music played over the intercom. The shop looked deserted. One team followed Arthur to the left whilst the other followed Merlin to 

the right.

  


Arthur’s team swept down the dairy aisle without incident until they reached the butchery.

  


Bruce’s butchers stood behind the glass counter and began throwing knives at them. The team fired, bullets bouncing off the glass display.

  


“Bullet proof glass in a supermarket?” Arthur was incredulous.

  


“Did not expect that,” Percival admitted.

  


They retreated up the cereal aisle dodging knives. One lodged itself in Owaine’s leg and he cried out in pain. Arthur dragged him back. Gwaine came up behind them pushing five shopping carts. He positioned 

them across the aisle and the team gathered behind it.

  


“We’ll take them down from here,” he said to Arthur. “You go find Skinner.”

  


With a nod, Arthur raced up the aisle and turned into the next in time to see Merlin shove a packing boy into the ice cream fridge. He had a bruise forming on his cheek.

  


“Merlin!” Arthur came up to him and they high fived.

  


“Skinner?” Merlin asked. Arthur nodded.

  


Merlin’s team provided cover as the boys ducked and wove their way to the back office.

  


It was deserted.

  


“Fuck!” Arthur kicked the door.

  


“Back exit!” Merlin shouted and they raced out the office, through the storage area to a door at the back.

  


Skinner was peeling out of the parking lot in his yellow Porsche 911.

  


“Let’s go,” said Merlin, holding up the keys to his squad car. They ran down the road and across the square to the car. The back passenger window shattered. Turning around, Merlin saw Gaius limping towards 

them, blood running down the side of his face and his neck.

  


“Merlin! Stop this madness. Come home.”

  


“No,” Merlin pointed his gun at the old man. “Drop your weapon.”

  


“Oh, so now you decide to be a proper policeman!”

  


“Officer!” Merlin shouted back at him and fired.

  


The bullet grazed Gaius’s head, taking his ear off. Arthur ran over, kicked the dropped gun away and cuffed Gaius’ hands together. “You’re coming with us.”

  


“My ear! You shot off my ear!” Gaius was outraged.

  


Merlin shrugged. “Tis but a scratch.”

  


Arthur bit back a laugh as Gaius was pushed into the back seat of the car and the boys finally took off after skinner.

  


“Which way did he go?” Arthur asked.

  


“I bet he’s heading for the outskirts. Sound the alarm.”

  


With an almost childish glee, Arthur turned on the lights and siren.

  


They caught up with the Porsche a few minutes later on the country lane that led out of the village. The Porsche began to swerve violently until it burst through a hedge and barreled into a field.

  


Skinner tumbled out of the car and began a limping shuffle run away from the car. Arthur pulled up next to the Porsche and gave chase on foot.

  


He tackled Skinner to the ground. Bruce wrestled against Arthur, throwing his arms out to punch the lieutenant. He got a lucky blow against Arthur’s chin and jumped to his feet. Arthur pulled out his gun and 

threw it at Skinner. It hit the back of his head and the man went down like a bag of potatoes.

  


“Good aim,” Merlin said, walking past him to cuff the culprit.

  


Suddenly the Porsche’s engine roared to life. Gaius had climbed behind the wheel and was making an escape.

  


The men watched as Gaius drove past them. Suddenly the car began to swerve erratically and hit the only tree in the field. Gaius stumbled out, followed by the escaped swan.

  


***

  


Back at the police station, the police officers were processing the arrested neighbourhood watch and its murderous associates. Merlin and Arthur were hailed as heroes and cups of tea were handed out.

  


In the bustle, the door to the bull pen burst open and Doctor Reaper stood there with a shot gun.

  


“Pendragon, you bastard! You ruined everything!”

  


He fired.

  


Merlin dove in front of Arthur, taking the blow in the stomach.

  


In the chaos that ensued, Arthur kicked a dustbin at the Doctor, stunning him, and causing him to stumble into the open evidence room where he landed against the old sea mine.

  


One of the pins sank into the sphere and something inside clicked. It ticked four times before blowing up.

  


***

  


One year later…

  


The new Camelot Police Station was a large building with big windows and the traditional blue lamp over the door.

  


Arthur picked up the bunch of flowers on his desk and left his office.

  


“That time already?” Vivian noted as he walked past her desk.

  


He nodded grimly.

  


A few minutes later, he pulled up at the town cemetery and made his way to a gravestone.

  


He laid the flowers at the foot of the stone.

  


“I hope these are okay,” he said.

  


“They’re perfect,” answered Merlin, standing to the side of the gravestone.

_Alice Gaius_

_Daughter_

_Wife_

_Loved_

After a few minutes, Merlin pecked Arthur on the cheek.

  


“Let’s go home.”

 

The End.

 


End file.
